Robin Roots
by SiriuslyScarredforLife
Summary: Even though Dick has matured into Nightwing, that doesn't mean he's discarded Robin. Time doesn't change the fact that Nightwing is the refined shell of Richard Grayson while Robin is the core. Experiences have made him grow up from the mantle of Boy Wonder but it's no denying he is his start. "What are you talking about, Bruce? ... I've always been Robin."


_Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice, DC Comics or Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne/Tim Drake/Alfred Pennyworth in any media. _

_Summary: Even though Dick has matured into Nightwing, that doesn't mean he's discarded Robin. Time doesn't change the fact that Nightwing is the refined shell of Richard Grayson while Robin is the core. Experiences have made him grow up from the mantle of Boy Wonder but it's no denying he is his start. "What are you talking about, Bruce? ... I've always been Robin."_

* * *

Dick ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply as his eyes raked over the lean body in the reflected glass. Taller, broader, more mature- he saw a man that looked familiar to his eyes and yet alien in the current backdrop. He had grown from the last time he'd been in the room. His black hair, previously cut short, now brushed his collar, hanging in shaggy tufts over his teal blue eyes. His jaw had lost all traces of his baby fat- the lean jaw that had once curved into a pointed chin now softened into a broad jowl. His nose was evenly set in the middle of his shaped oblong face. He had hit a growth spurt at sixteen so he was no longer the tiny short runt he had been at thirteen and towered significantly over his small bed at the manor.

He looked nothing alike to his thirteen year old self at first glance. But he was still there. He was still the same- Under the perpetual frown, under the shadows of the creases on his forehead, under his steely blue eyes, he was still Robin: First Boy Wonder. He was Nightwing; And he was Robin.

Years had simply weathered down the spark in him that he used to freely show, the sunny grin instead of the ceaseless frown; experience had taught him other ways to release the anxiety within him during a battle- he eschewed the quips and banter now, he adopted Batman's stealth and take-down tactic. He reigned his self and his brightness in. He used it to keep himself in steam when he fought in Bluddhaven and started feel that it was a useless cause. Bottom line: Though he didn't show his Robin-esque attributes as openly, he was still him.

And appearance didn't change that. Nightwing may be his refined shell, but Robin was his core.

The underlying Robin to his Nightwing adult features bellied that thought.

Beneath his new black, kevlar costume, he still had the form of an acrobat- sinewy and graceful but more angular than before. The apathetic stretch of mouth could still effortlessly mould into a wide cheeky grin that cracked his cheeks. His mask, when on, held strong influence from his Robin domino mask- an added stroke made the difference- and, when off, his eyes were still the same shocking shade of beryl blue as nine years before, still lined invitingly with crow's feet.

He was different, and yet, he was the same.

And Dick saw all this as he looked into the mirror in his room at Wayne manor.

God, it had been a long time since he'd last visited the place, hadn't it? Between patrolling Bluddhaven, and mentoring Young Justice and sitting in on meetings with the Justice League, he never had anymore time to himself. Home had become the couch in his small apartment in upper Bluddhaven; he couldn't even reach his dingy bed a room away.

It had only been a day ago when Batman had come to him in his city to invite him back to his _previous_ home, at least for a few days. It was for Tim's birthday, he had said, the emotional statement that would typically come from a proud father in Batman's gruff rumble/growl like a parody of familial affection. Dick had some ups and downs with Bruce- times when they clashed and growled and verbally attacked each other to the point of concealed tears- but he couldn't, would never, deny that Bruce was a good father.

(_He hadn't been at the start though; He'd barely hugged, he'd barely smiled, and trying to get love from him was like drawing blood from stone. Dick would have likened his early life with Bruce to be like living with a gargoyle. He was a cold, distant figure even at home, one which inspired fear in even his timid ward. It had been a struggle in helping Bruce develop into the person he was today but Dick wouldn't be modest; he was the reason why Bruce had made this much progress from the previous shell of a Batman persona he had been to the Batman-Bruce hybrid he was now- one who sometimes smiled and gave brief displays of affections in front of others. He was not the only one, but he was the main one_.)

So when he heard Batman-Bruce's words and observed his demeanor, he couldn't refuse. Shaking off the flash of hesitation in leaving his city unguarded for a stay, he steadily agreed and the next minute, he had been deposited at his old room in the manor which looked unchanged from the last time he'd been there. Which it it was; Bruce hadn't had the heart to change the positioning of his furniture nor even change his furniture beyond cleaning them daily.

Behind his reflection in the mirror, he could see the disaster zone of his getting ready, his clothes littering the room limply and his new math books tumbled recklessly on the bed. It was fine, though; it seemed more like home. He already felt the vestiges of his old Robin persona creeping up on him in such an achingly familiar environment.

Suddenly, he cracked a large smirk which he saw made his blue eyes slant upward at the corners amicably in the mirror. With all this reminiscing on how he came to be Nightwing- all the hardships he had to endure, all the lost experiences he wouldn't be able to experience again so long as he continued his new mantle of 'Nightwing'- he, all of a sudden, felt nostalgic, like an old itch that had reawakened under the onslaught of emotions.

Here, at Wayne Manor was where he was closest to Robin. This was where he had been created, and where he had been trained. Despite the fact that there had been now two other candidates who qualified as Robin (the deceased Jason Todd, and now Tim Drake), the title was default his and he remembered the good times he had had behind the domino mask.

He wanted to experience them again- he craved for it, he longed for it, he was suddenly very desperate for it.

Experimentally, he opened his mouth, upper lip arching just so and bottom lip stretching in a manner he hadn't done in six years.

The cackle came naturally.

Sadistic, mocking, taunting and frightening in a disembodied way at the same time, it came to him like riding a bicycle after years of not. It was familiar and comforting. It reminded him of being shot that one time he had pissed that mercenary one too many times and scaring Wally into screaming like a girl when they'd still been the best of buds.

Dick suddenly remembered why he had loved being Robin, why the change from the lively Robin to the solemn Nightwing had been an exceptionally difficult one.

More cackles poured forth. And more. And more. And more. The room echoed hauntingly with the past come back to life. The person in the mirror looked younger as he laughed to himself- younger than Nightwing.

For some reason, he felt himself go slightly misty-eyed. This is fun, he thought, feeling his hoarse throat from excessive cackling. I missed this, I should do this again sometime.

He hurriedly rubbed at his eyes when he heard two loud knocks on his door.

"Dick, er, are you playing something?" came Tim's uncertain voice, muffled from the other side of the oak door. TIm Drake- the birthday boy. He must have scared him when he'd suddenly laughed- God knew he hadn't done much of laughing recently.

He loped across the warzone easily and opened the door with a twist of his wrist to look at Tim's surprise face-to-face.

Tim was younger than him; His birthday today marked him becoming sixteen. His face was oval with sharp cheeks that dipped into a strong chin. Unlike Dick when he was younger, his black hair didn't hang over his eyes, nor was it slicked back with gel. It was buzzed cut sternly and it hovered inches over his sky blue eyes. His arched eyebrows were furrowed together at the moment.

"Can I get you something, Tim?" Dick said, feigning nonchalance as he leaned laxly against the frame of the door. Still exhilarated, he had dropped the enduring guard he had developed and his downbeat mouth had curved unaccustomedly into a lazy grin, the call of being Robin after so many years singing in his veins.

Tim blinked at the turn of events. Dick was certain that Tim had never seen him like this before. The closest he had ever come to acting like Robin with him was his during his first mission. Anxiety had thrummed through his person when he had seen the fire that time and he had been so relieved that he had forgotten that he was in the company of the other supers. ("_Dude, way to get your feet wet._")

"I heard a noise," started Tim but his statement lilted with question at the end. Dick resisted the renewed urge to cackle at his cluelessness. He was a nineteen year old man. He was not thirteen. He was mature and mentored over the current Robin now, he repeated in his head like a mantra. Outwardly, Dick merely grinned- an easy action that turned his cool expression into a more spirited one. "That was me," he told him," Sorry, was I too loud?"

"No, Alfred just wanted me to call you for dinner and I heard you from behind the door."

Dick gave a grunt of acquiesce, customary of Nightwing, then he thought, _oh what the heck? _He remembered his earlier years when he had been more open and less jaded and when he acted like his home _was _his _home_. He remembered his strange insistence to remember his old times a few seconds ago, in the very room.

He cackled blatantly in Tim's face as he slipped past the boy and cartwheeled down the length of the corridor- hair astray, hands wheeling effortlessly against the tiled floor whenever they made contact with them, rotating his matured body as easily as his younger one.

It was nice to be young again, he decided giddily. He may be Nightwing now, but that didn't mean he should forget his Robin roots. Maybe it would do him good if he displayed more Robin obviously in his mannerisms- break a lifetime of stoic frowns with light laughter- At least with his family.

It would feel good.

And- Dick grinned as he slid neatly down the balustrade, pulled off an easy handstand on the ball at the end then back-flipped into Bruce's and Alfred's path, hands raised high for applause, chin tipped proudly high- it was nice to go through a trolling phase again. He met his two adoptive fathers' eyes and smiled softly when he saw the sentimental expressions on their faces.

"I don't think I've seen you do that since you were Robin, Dick," remarked Bruce drily, then Dick's smile turned into a smirk that stretched his lips like a self-satisfied cat.

"What are you talking about, Bruce?" he purred.

"I've always been Robin."

* * *

_A/N: As I've said, I'm exploring_ _psychology now. The idea for this story came along when I saw Dick playfully congratulate Tim on a job well done. It was a break from all his Nightwing stoicism. Now, I'm basing this on my own experiences but it's hard to forget mannerisms ingrained into you for a long time, right? So I felt that he wouldn't forget his playful when he was Robin so easily, that he would still have reminders of his past as Robin in the way he acts. And since he doesn't show it when he is with Young Justice, he should have a way to show them and that is at home- if you can't be yourself when you're with family, who can you be yourself with?_

_Therefore, this baby cropped up. It's an exploration of self and how the past still undercurrents the future. _

_Sorry if anything seems a bit off. I tried to keep Dick in character and I've never written Tim before so please forgive me for any mistakes. If my linking seems a bit incoherent and/or my phrasing sounds weird and/or my punctuation is inappropriate, I welcome reviews that pick my mistakes out; I'm still trying to improve, I will still make mistakes. Of course, I welcome reviews of praise as well :) _


End file.
